


Something Hot

by Hannahbette



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Slight Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9632024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannahbette/pseuds/Hannahbette
Summary: Its heating up in the lab





	

Fiddleford plucked at the strings of his banjo; the soft ‘twangs’ overlaying the sound of his boss shuffling through pages and pages of research in the corner. He sighed, and slowly sunk more into the tie-dyed beanbag underneath him. Although he had only moved to Oregon about a week and a half ago, there seemed to be an already established routine of keeping busy while Stanford indulged himself in his investigations, scrutinizing over every little detail. 

Ford, standing hunched over his desk, mumbled incoherently and continued to scour his area for whatever he was looking for. He gnawed on the pen protruding out the side of his mouth. Clearly, the man was thinking too hard about something, Fiddleford observed. Since when is he not thinking too hard? The banjo music ceased. It took him a while, but eventually Stanford did take notice and the jumbling of papers stopped as well. 

Ford spun around, peering at his assistant lounging at the other side of the room. “You feeling okay there, buddy?” he asked, removing the pen from his mouth. Fiddleford placed his banjo off to the side and leaned forward in the beanbag chair, his feet reaching the shag carpeting. 

“I’m alright. But really, Stan, it’s you who I’m a tad worried about,” he responded. “I’ve known you for five years now, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you relax once! Do you honestly believe stayin’ up this late to work on your- uh, spooky diaries is healthy?”

Stanford huffed, folding his arms. “Well, of course it is! If I don’t properly document my findings then how the hell do you expect me to win a Pulitzer Prize? Get girls to actually talk to me? Hm? Hm?”

Fiddleford chucked. “So that’s what it all boils down to?” he asked.

“Ugh.” Ford peeled off his trench coat and left it hanging off the side of his rolling chair. He toppled over on the couch, fingers rubbing his temples. 

“You know, Fiddleford, to be perfectly honest with you, I’ve never kissed anyone before,” he confessed. 

Fiddleford blinked. Had he said this to him before? He searched his brain for any prior romantic disclosures from his boss but came up with nothing. “’S nothing to be ashamed of. Some folks just aren’t into all that romantic hullabaloo.”

Ford bit his lips. “Yeah, I know. But I mean, I did manage to find a date for my senior prom. Even though that was more on Stanl- my brother… he was the one who convinced her that I was some sort of suave super-genius. She ended up dumping a cup of punch over my head and leaving on the back of some other guy’s bicycle. He was pretty good-looking so I guess I can’t really blame her.”

“You have a brother? That has the same name as you?“ Fiddleford interjected, taken aback. “Good lord, Stanford. Quit bein’ so mysterious about everything.” Ford’s face scrunched up and he quickly changed the topic. 

“It must be nice, having a wife and a kid,” he reflected, staring up at the boarded ceiling. “I’ve always loved kids, but haven’t really had the chance to settle down yet.”

The wooden floor creaked under his footsteps as Fiddleford made his way over to the couch, plopping down next to the author. 

“I love Tate more than anyone else in the world. I really do. But, me ‘nd the wife, we’ve just been driftin’ so much apart lately,” he answered. His hand combed through his hair. 

“Communication problems, I reckon. We separated shortly before I announced that I was comin’ to live here with you.” Fiddleford wasn’t looking at the man laying beside him but he could still sense that he was surprised. Ford let out a puff of air. “Oh. I’m sorry,” he quietly replied. 

Fiddleford turned to glance at his boss. An unusual sort of aching blanketed over him as he relished in the sight of Stanford’s body sprawled out on the couch, illuminated by a couple of lit candles from his desk and the faint moonlight that crept through the lavender window curtains above them. A twisted proposition made its’ way into the young engineer’s head and caused his face to grow hot. The seed for an idea as tempting as it was risky bubbled inside of him. He gulped.

“Stanford,” he whispered, scooting towards him. “Our dilemmas ‘ave got me to thinkin’- There’s a solution. An obvious solution. And… the probability of that solution may be low, but it still has a slim chance of being right,” he continued, easing his way on top of Ford. 

Ford said nothing, but his body became stiff under Fiddleford’s weight. It was blatant that he had never been in this sort of situation before, and that nerves were eating up at him. His six-fingered hands gripped the sides of the couch, digging into the foamy cushions. Fiddleford’s face hovered above Stanford’s. 

“Is it okay to try this- to experiment a little?”

Even in the dim candlelight, he could tell that the author’s cheeks were burning up. Ford, whose eyes had been roaming, looking everywhere and at everything except for his assistant finally met his gaze. “A-are you sure… you and y-your wife…” Ford choked out. Fiddleford stifled a laugh. 

“Stan, she was already datin’ some city boy from Boston when I was packing my bags,” he explained. “If that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be.”

Stanford opened his mouth to protest more, but hesitantly closed it. 

“O… okay, then. I suppose I’m willing to try, uh, whatever it is you have in mind,” he responded. Fiddleford gave a slight nod before gradually leaning in; inching his mouth closer to Ford’s. He wanted to savor the feeling of being so incredibly close to him, close enough to feel the harsh pounding of his heart against his rib cage, close enough to inhale the intermingling scents of alcohol and pen ink emitting from his clothes…

Fiddleford’s head angled and his damp lips began working against Stanford’s chapped ones.

Ford immediately tensed up at the sensation. He didn’t regret consenting but this whole thing was sudden to him… had thrown him off-guard. He sort of wished he had done something to prepare himself when he felt Fiddleford’s tongue brush against his mouth. Ford inhaled sharply through his nose. 

His assistant pulled back, sweat beading down his face. 

“Do y'wanna stop?” he questioned, straddling the brunette. 

“No,” Ford replied, with more confidence in his tone than before. Sweaty palms made their way onto Fiddleford’s hips. “Let’s just see where this goes.” 

Stanford started to loosen up. He gaped his mouth open and allowed a groan to escape from the back of his throat as soon as their tongues initiated contact. Although Ford was still very new to this, his clumsiness soon started to vanish as he learned what was effective in keeping his partner engaged. His body was subconsciously moving with the rhythm of the kissing. 

Their glasses clanked together as the movement between the two scientists picked up in pace. Fiddleford felt one of Stanford’s hands leave its’ place from his waist and begin raking through his dirty blonde hair. As soon as they broke their heated session to get some air, Fiddleford stopped latching onto Stanford’s shoulders and went to diligently unbuttoning his shirt. Ford shook with nervous laugher. 

“I never would have pegged you as the type to be so… experienced,” he admitted, adjusting his glasses with a spare hand. 

“I’m guessing this isn’t your first encounter… with… w-with another…” His words faded away as soon as Fiddleford pressed his hot tongue against his now exposed collar bone. It trailed upwards, dragging towards his neck. 

“You… you’re good at this,” Stanford breathed out in-between pants. Fiddleford snickered, his face still buried in the crook of his boss’ neck. 

"Maybe I can get a raise outta all this?“ he proposed, breathing hard as he started nibbling the soft skin on his throat. Ford’s fist clasped onto the back of Fiddleford’s head, pulling on as much hair as six fingers grab. 

“Fiddleford,” he sighed, reveling in just how pleasurable it was having the engineer bite and lick his neck. Maybe a little too pleasurable.

Fiddleford gasped, feeling Stan’s clothed length poking his inner-thigh. Stanford’s spasmodic breathing coupled with his head jerking to the side signified that he was completely embarrassed by his own abrupt arousal. Fiddleford laughed it off again, cupping Ford’s face in his hands and directing his head back.

“No need to be so self-conscious, Fordy,” he cooed, stroking the author’s jawline with his thumbs.

He delicately kissed his lips and crawled backwards, now sitting on Ford’s legs. A skillful hand went straight for the zipper on his dark jeans, and just as his fingers pulled downwards, a loud ringing resonated throughout the room. 

Fiddleford flinched and jumped back, hitting the shag carpet face-first with a muffled ‘thunk’. 

“Damn it!” Stanford bellowed as he leaped off the couch. He darted over to the source of the ringing, rapidly shuffling through his papers once again. 

“Aha!” Ford pulled his alarm clock out from under a heap of his documents, triumphantly pressing the top to stop all the noise. He shuffled over to where his assistant laid fuming on the floor and offered a hand. 

“Sorry about that, buddy. Set it to remind myself to get some sleep,” Ford said, pulling Fiddleford up. 

“Ya almost near gave me a heart attack. At least warn me when there’s an alarm about to go off,” he replied. His fingers lingered over Ford’s for a solid ten seconds before Ford drew back. His somewhat hairy chest was still partially visible with all the buttons undone.

“Uh, well, I guess it’s time to turn in for the night.” He gathered a bundle of random papers in his arms before heading for the hallway. Fiddleford remained loitering near the couch. 

“Your fly is down, Stan,” he called out, trying to hold down the urge to grin. Stanford came to a hault in the doorway. 

“So it is. Good eye, Fiddleford,” he answered back, chuckling. His head rolled around. 

“You know, I think that was pretty successful. But we should probably do some more trials to test things out. Maybe start it up again this weekend?“ 

Fiddleford sighed in content. “I’d like that.”


End file.
